


hold you like the sun

by borrowingbones (displayheartcode)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, First Time, Post-War, Rule 63, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 15:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18123056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/displayheartcode/pseuds/borrowingbones
Summary: Gawain was looking at her with such open desire.





	hold you like the sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is my adult-only account. I do not take fic requests.
> 
> For the F/F version, read let your love surround me. If you enjoyed this, try reading the fanfics on my general account that are under the name displayheartcode. 
> 
> The title comes from the acoustic version of Letters from the Sky by Civil Twilight.
> 
> Please leave reviews? This was sitting on my desktop for ages.

 

The night air from the opened window was cool against Harper’s skin. She lay on the small bed, the ceiling fuzzy without her glasses, letting her wet clothes and black hair soak into the sheets, legs dangling off the side. “I’m nineteen-years-old, a trained Auror,” she said. “And I still can’t swim.”

“You were almost that bad. What about the Triwizard Tournament, though? You freed Ronnie from the mermaids.” Gawain rolled to his stomach, reaching a hand out to play with her hair, a practiced gesture from their time dating. A lone fern from the creek was tangled in there somewhere. Harper had felt it brush against her neck on their walk back to the Burrow. 

The night swim had been his idea, born out of insomnia that often brought them together in the kitchen at her flat or the labyrinth steps on the Burrow. Flying in the apple orchard was a normal occurrence at this point, but Gawain had been appalled to hear she had never gone skinny-dipping. Now in the safety of his childhood room, Harper regretted that she had changed his idea at the last moment to keep most of her clothes on. Shirtless in the creek had proven that his Quidditch tryouts and practices were useful.

Harper snorted. “Gillyweed.”

“Still have time to learn,” Gawain said. He freed the fern and twirled it between his fingers.

“Are you offering to teach me?”

“Call it being even after everything with the D.A.” Gawain stretched his legs out, his knee brushed against her arm. Harper saw a sliver of skin between his waistband and shirt. She wanted to touch it. Her eyes followed the seam of his jeans, the desire palpable as she caught the visible hitch in his breath.

“What else would make us even?” she asked in a hoarse voice. 

He slid down to the bottom of the bed to be at eye-level with her and then up on his elbows, hovering over her head. His bright hair created a curtain around them. Harper’s mouth went dry. His mouth was close to hers, the memory of the creek water drenching his clothes and Gawain tossing his shirt away, her birthday two years ago and the following year full of missed chances that Harper had let slip through her fingers. His dark brown eyes lazily took her in, the way her wet sleep vest clung to her sides, the lean lines of her arms… For a brief moment, Harper was reminded of her new scars and how she hadn’t regained all of the weight she lost on the run that a full year later couldn’t fix.

 _Should we?_ She considered as a kernel of doubt grew. There was no way he should still like after everything. That all of those feelings had become unrequited and he moved on.

But Gawain was looking at her with such open desire.   

“Do you want to?” asked Harper. The rest was left unsaid. She read the way his body reacted to her words, how wide his eyes went. 

He answered by kissing her. It was like being struck with a match, the desire flared hotly under her skin as she kissed him back, communicating without words about how much she wanted this. (Harper knew she was never good with describing her feelings, but this she could try.) They rolled around in the bed, making up for lost time. Their wet clothes moved together, his touch like fire against her bare skin. 

Her vest hit the ground. Her scars were stark against her brown skin and sensitive to the touch where Gawain dipped his head to kiss. She clutched the headboard for support. And he kissed her shoulders, the hollow of her throat, her breasts, her wrists. Harper straddled his hips; Gawain’s arousal was heavy against her stomach.

The fire rose higher up inside her. Even after so much time apart, her body recognized his by touch alone. 

She felt one of his strong hands against her bare back, the other cupping the back of her head. She pressed her body against his, rolling her hips to hear him gasp her name. He said more things, how beautiful she looked, that he loved her green eyes and soft skin. That he needed her, too.

 _That’s the silver lining,_ she echoed, making him laugh.

Harper thought several things at once: how her back arched when Gawain flicked a tongue over a pebbled nipple, how the moonlight seeping through the window set his hair silver-bright, how her hips rose to clash against his, feeling the heat through their remaining clothes. The silent repetition of _I trust you I trust_ _I_ _trust_ _you_ flowed between them. And his hands worked themselves down her body, touching her over the last of her clothes as she guided him after the necessary charms were cast.

“Is this okay?” Gawain whispered into her skin, his voice betraying how vulnerable he felt with her.

Harper looked into his eyes. “It is.”

 

. . .

 

“Even, huh?” Gawain said later with an awestruck look on his face. Boneless, he took up most of the bed, the ruined sheets crumpled on the floor.

Harper curled her leg around his thigh. “I still don’t know how to swim, but this might be preferable.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
